


mirror, mirror, on the wall

by novoaa1



Series: motherland: camp half-blood [3]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), F/F, Prophecy, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Rick Riordan Demigod Universe | Riordanverse, abigail being kind of a dick, pov scylla ramshorn, protective raelle collar, scylla being clumsy and bad at self-care, scylla ramshorn being done with everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: “Good grief,” Narcissus sighs, turning his attentions back down to Scylla—who is still on the floor, wide-eyed and open-mouthed with shock. “Girl, are you gonna get up from there, or what?”She doesn’t move.“Whatever,” he says, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I don’t have time for this. I was sent to deliver a message, okay?”“A… message?”Or: Scylla talks to a mirror. (Or, perhaps more accurately, the mirror talks toher.)
Relationships: Abigail Bellweather & Scylla Ramshorn, Abigail Bellweather & Tally Craven, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: motherland: camp half-blood [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873414
Comments: 16
Kudos: 127





	1. the message

**Author's Note:**

> kay i really wanted to do something that brought the whole 'mirror' theme from the show into this, 'casue that's scylla's whole shtick for the start of the 1st season
> 
> n e ways
> 
> i'm still a piece of garbage who doesn't proofread things so let me know if there are any errors, and i really hope you like?

It’s something like 3:00 in the morning, the first time it happens. 

Scylla is just stumbling her way back into Cabin 13 after a late-night ~~make-out session~~ , ahem, _date_ with Raelle on the beach, up the stone steps and through the coffin-shaped doors. The air that permeates the cabin’s interior is heavy and grim; perhaps even ominous… But it’s also nothing new, and Scylla takes it more or less in stride. 

She shucks her jean jacket (lined with white wool to keep her warm) and tosses it onto her bed—a queen-sized mattress settled into a custom-made frame. 

It was a gift (the bed frame, that is) from Porter over in Hephaestus’ cabin for helping him summon the deceased spirit of his late friend Clive on a near weekly basis about two summers back right after he died in a freak car accident. She’d offhandedly mentioned to him one night that she still wasn’t quite used to falling asleep at night in beds that were something straight out of a gothic vampire’s wet dream: coffin-shaped frames made of lacquered mahogany wood, retrofitted with gleaming brass railings on all sides, furnished with plush crimson-red pillows and sheets. 

That same weekend, he’d presented her with a lightweight titanium bed-frame… and a date proposal (which she’d politely turned down). 

She’d grabbed a normal-shaped (as in, _not_ coffin-shaped) mattress from the single grand suite (probably designed for the house’s leader) in Dionysus’ cabin, which had been vacant at the time, then brought it back to use for herself instead. She left their pillows behind, though, so she had to make do with a couple from the coffin-beds. 

Even now, it's still a little unsettling—falling asleep every night surrounded by hyper-realistic coffin-beds in a place that reeks of the kind of death only she can ever seem to smell—but she's nothing if not adaptable. 

Anyways. 

She makes her way over to the bathroom. It’s spacious and minimalistic (and, of course, gothic)—polished black obsidian walls, tinted glass shower door. Above the sinks (likewise carved from large blocks of obsidian), a large rectangular mirror stretches from wall to wall, making it truly impossible to avoid your reflection the very moment you set foot inside. 

The back of the door also bears a mirror, this one rectangular and tall, sunken into the thick layer of white-gold plating the wood.

It’s this one she’s standing before, looking at her own reflection up-close and trying (unsuccessfully) not to grin like an idiot at what she sees: Her once-thin (but shapely) lips kiss-swollen and a lurid shade of pink; rosy-pink marks all up and down her throat, some of them visibly beginning to bruise; the loose curls she’d ironed into her hair now tousled and unruly from Raelle’s calloused fingers running through them.

She doesn’t often enjoy looking at her own reflection (or ever, if she’s being honest), but she’s quite enamored by the visual aftereffects of time well spent one-on-one with Raelle: bumming it at the beach along Long Island Sound for hours on end, kissing and talking and giggling at the stupidest things. 

She probably could’ve spent hours just staring at the love bites all up and down her neck in the mirror, the unbridled elation etched into her features like it belonged there (even though she hadn’t seen it since her mother died)… could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. 

Either way, she’s leaning in to get a good look at the small purplish bruise forming amidst a splotch of bright taffy pink beneath her collarbone, when—

“Damn, girl!” A vaguely effeminate but undoubtedly masculine voice exclaims, sounding for all the world as if it’s just come straight from the mirror itself. 

Scylla jerks back, trying to make a hasty retreat—but her feet don’t quite get the message, and she ends up sprawled ass-first on the black tile underfoot. She gapes back up at the mirror, which now only shows her from the shoulders up. 

“Oh, thank the _gods_ , it worked,” the mirror voice says. "Can you see me? I—" It pauses mid-sentence. “Honey, what in the _world_ are you doing on the floor?”

“Oh, my gods, what the _fuck_ ?!”

“Woo! _Language_ ,” the effeminate masculine voice scolds, and Scylla thinks she sees the faintest outline of a tall broad-shouldered man flicker in the mirror before disappearing just as quickly as it’d come. “Now, can you see me or not? I don’t have much time.”

“N-N-No,” Scylla stammers out, blinking rapidly in an effort to dispel… whatever it is she’s hearing (and seeing) right now. 

“Styx,” the voice grumbles. 

Another flicker—this time stronger, and Scylla catches sight of a well-muscled man with warm coffee-bean-brown skin before he disappears once more.

“Ugh,” the mirror voice— _man_ —whines. 

The likeness reappears, flickers thrice, before finally solidifying. 

“A-ha!” the mirror man says, and Scylla feels a bit like fainting. “I did it!"

She can see him now in all his glory, naked save for a white towel around his waist that reaches just above his knees (which makes her kind of wish he'd just stayed a disembodied mirror voice). His almond-shaped eyes are a dark umber brown, his lips full and pouty, and there’s a prominent dimple in his chin that (for some reason) reminds her vaguely of Adele. His hair is buzzed short such that it almost seems a shadow across his scalp.

( _He kind of looks like a fashion model_ , Scylla thinks.) 

He's smiling broadly at her like he’s just won the lottery, baring a blinding-white straight-toothed grin that only serves to further Scylla’s profound bewilderment to truly staggering heights. 

“Hi!” he greets jovially, chin angled down to turn the full force of his grin upon her. 

“Who _are_ you?”

He squints down at her. “What, the mirror didn’t give it away?”

“… No.”

“Ah! Okay. Narcissus,” he does a little half-curtsy, tilting his head to the side and giving her a wink. “At your service.”

Scylla nods, trying to get her racing heart rate back under control. “Right. Reflections. The mirror… Okay.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “Good ole’ Hestia pleaded to give me a second chance after I, you know—" he slices a finger across his throat, face falling slack and tongue hanging out—miming death. “But Zeus was a grump as usual, and said it had to be a ‘punishment.'” He— _Narcissus_ —huffs, crossing his toned arms against his muscular chest. “Long story short—I can exist on the mortal plane, but only in mirrors… which means I can never see my reflection ever again. Not much of a 'second chance’ if you ask me, but—"

Thunder booms in the skies overhead, shaking the entire cabin intensely enough to rattle Scylla’s bones. 

Narcissus rolls his eyes, turns his gaze skyward and exclaims: “I was _kidding_ , jeez. Chill out!”

Silence—no more thunder. 

“Good grief,” Narcissus sighs, turning his attentions back down to Scylla—who is still on the floor, wide-eyed and open-mouthed with shock. “Girl, are you gonna get up from there, or what?”

She doesn’t move.

“Whatever,” he says, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I don’t have time for this. I was sent to deliver a message, okay?”

“A… message?”

“Yes, sweetcheeks, a message,” Narcissus clarifies impatiently, pursing his lips and narrowing his gaze down upon her. “Are you hard of hearing or something?” 

“No, just… processing.”

“Well, process faster. Here’s the message,” he pauses, a thoughtful crease forming between his perfectly-shaped brows. "Witches of Salem, enter Hell’s kingdom / Daughters of music, war, and wisdom / Two kinsfolk aides will doubtless be needed / Their instruction and guidance unconditionally heeded / One from Gehenna, the other of Earth / Join together as one, seize Hell’s harlot re-birthed.”

Scylla frowns. “… Huh?”

“Yeah, sorry, honey—I don’t do requests,” Narcissus tells her (though he doesn’t sound apologetic in the slightest). “This has been fun, though. Check in later? Toodles!”

“Wait—" Scylla calls, scrambling to her feet and hastily running over to the mirror. 

… But he’s gone without a trace. 

Scylla tries to call him back, says anything and everything she can think of to make him return—but, nothing. 

She’s alone, and more confused than she’s ever been in her entire life. 

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just kinda fuckin' winged it with narcissus' portrayal so i'm def interested to know what you guys thought about him...


	2. prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gods Almighty,” Narcissus laments. “You guys are _so_ screwed.”
> 
> “That’s not super helpful.”
> 
> “Well, I’m not allowed to _intervene_ , little lady. Or—not any more than I’ve been instructed to, anyhow.”
> 
> Scylla fights the urge to swear. “Is there anything you _can_ tell me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> narcissus was actually mad fun to write tbh

Narcissus’ message distracts her all week. 

She takes a 10-foot fall off a pegasus named Carlos mid-flight and flattens a bunch of baby strawberry plants on impact (much to the nearby satyrs’ collective chagrin). 

She accidentally bumps into Abigail at the dining pavilion and spills her Shirley Temple all down the taller girl’s white blouse, which very nearly results in her being pummeled into the ground—and with the entire camp as an audience, no less. (Luckily, Tally steps in and stops that from happening.)

It isn’t until she dazedly walks straight into the archery range while it’s being used by a handful of kids from the Apollo cabin (Raelle included) and almost gets herself impaled by a razor-sharp arrow that she starts to realize— _Shit, maybe this is becoming kind of a problem_. 

If the way Raelle immediately drops her bow into the grass and starts sprinting over is any indication, she thinks so, too. 

She tears through the range (despite a number of loud protests from her cabin mates), and helps Scylla off to the side with a strong arm around her waist and visceral worry plastered all across her sweat-dotted features. 

“Scyl? _Shit_ , that was a close call. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

Scylla blinks, leaning further into Raelle’s embrace and feeling a lazy smile curve her lips when she feels Raelle’s arm tighten around her waist. “I’m fine, Rae. Promise. I just… was a little out of it for a sec there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Raelle remarks, irony apparent in her tone—though it’s the farthest thing from bitter. “Here—there’s some water in the fridge over at Apollo cabin. We’ll stop there, then head over to yours, and you can wind down there. Does that sound okay?”

Scylla sighs, reluctantly allowing Raelle to guide her in the direction of the cabins. “I’m _fine_ , really,” she insists, though even she’ll admit it doesn’t come off sounding all that convincing. “It was just a dizzy spell. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Is it just me, or are you getting worse at lying?” 

Scylla feels herself blush. “Shut up.”

— — 

Scylla settles down upon the edge of her mattress at Raelle’s behest, water bottle in hand. 

“Okay—I want you to drink at least half of that water, and then we’ll talk.”

Scylla glances down at the water bottle in her hand, which is still 3/4 full (if you’re being really generous about it). “Raelle, I’m f—"

“Uh-uh, nope, don’t say it.” Raelle looms above her with a determined expression creasing her pretty features, lean muscled arms crossed defiantly below her chest. “Water first.”

Scylla takes another long pull from the bottle, sighing happily as the ice-cold water slides down her throat. “You know, it’s kind of hot when you boss me around like that.”

A visible flush tinges Raelle’s slightly sunburnt cheeks at that—but to her credit, she otherwise does remarkably well to maintain her composure. “Very cute,” she says flatly, though there’s a bemused twinkle in her bright blue eyes that tells Scylla she’s not anywhere near legitimately angry. “Drink the water, baby. You’re almost there.”

(And if Scylla feels a shiver run down her spine at Raelle’s gentle encouragement that borders dangerously on praise… well. That’s her business.)

She takes a couple more sips and rolls her eyes like she’s pissed about it (though she really, really isn’t). When she holds up the plastic bottle for inspection roughly a minute later, the water level is well below half-way. 

She cocks a single brow up at Raelle, screwing the cap back on and setting the water bottle at her feet. “Happy now?”

Raelle’s lips twitch. “Ecstatic.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Now, wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Scylla sighs. “It’s nothing, Rae, really. Just… had a weird thing happen a couple days back.”

“Did Abigail do something?” Raelle’s hands clench into fists at her sides. “I told her to back _off_ —"

“Raelle, it wasn’t Abigail,” Scylla interjects, wide-eyed and pleading. (She hates feeling so weak.) “It’s, um… well—"

“Yoo-hoo!” Narcissus’ voice echoes loudly from the bathroom. “Death Girl, where you at? Time is money; money is time, you hear?”

_Oh, shit_. 

Raelle whirls around in place, looking from the open bathroom door back to Scylla and back again with obvious alarm written all across her features. “Who the fuck is _that_ ?” 

“Not _again_ ,” Scylla bemoans, pushing herself up from the mattress and walking straight past a gaping Raelle, making a beeline for the bathroom. 

“What do you mean, ‘again’?!”

“Ooh, is someone there with you?” Narcissus exclaims as Scylla storms into the restroom, Raelle hot on her heels. “Fiiiine, they can come, too, I guess. After all, Big Daddy Zeus never expressly _said_ I can’t talk to more than just the message recipient.” With that, Scylla slams the door shut, revealing a contemplative-looking Narcissus in the rectangular mirror. “Oh, hey, girl! There you are. Who’s the blonde?”

He’s topless again this time (making Scylla begin to form a sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind that he might just be allergic to shirts), though he is wearing a pair of khaki pants held up by a chestnut-brown belt rather than a towel—so that’s something, she supposes. 

Scylla clenches her jaw, silently counting to 10. 

In a startling change of pace, Narcissus is quiet in the meantime—waiting amiably for her to gather herself. 

“This… " She turns to gesture towards a slack-jawed Raelle standing frozen just a step behind her. “This is Raelle. Daughter of Apollo. She’s—"

“A daughter of _Apollo_ ?” Narcissus repeats, his voice at least an octave higher than normal. “Gods of Olympus, girlie, why didn’t you mention her sooner?” 

“To be completely fair, your previous visit lasted, like, a minute,” Scylla counters as evenly as she can manage, rubbing tiredly at her temples. (She can already feel an oncoming headache.) "Plus, you didn’t really let me get a word in.”

“I misjudged you, sweet-cheeks—“

“‘Sweet-cheeks’?” Raelle seems to recover enough to protest. “Hold on a minute.” She steps forth with a critical expression, bringing herself side-by-side with Scylla. “Who _are_ you, and what do you want with Scylla?”

Narcissus gasps dramatically, umber-brown eyes widening and a long hand coming up to cover his gaping mouth like he’s just had a particularly startling realization. 

“Is this the _girlfriend_ ?” he questions loudly, putting significant emphasis on the word ‘girlfriend.’ His dark eyes give her a critical once-over. “She’s cute, honey. I approve.”

Scylla heaves a long sigh. “This is Narcissus, Raelle. We met… a couple days ago.”

“She was looking in the mirror at those _darling_ hickeys you left all up and down her throat,” Narcissus adds. Scylla feels an intense flush heat her cheeks. “Nice work on that, by the way,” he tells Raelle, flashing her a conspiratorial wink. 

“I-I’m sorry, do you mean, like… _the_ Narcissus?” Raelle sputters out, her cheeks aglow. 

Narcissus heaves a dramatic sigh, turning his gaze back to Scylla. “She’s new, isn’t she?”

“What do you _want_ , Narcissus?”

“Oh! Right. Miss Acida'lia herself sent me to check up on your progress.” A crooked grin curves his pouty lips. “But it looks like you’re already on your way! I’m so proud.” He sighs, theatrically wiping at a nonexistent tear. “So, did you lovely ladies get a quest yet? And where’re the other two? Time is of the essence, honeybee; didn’t I tell you that?”

“What—“

“A quest?” Scylla repeats, incredulous. "What does that—Why would we need a _quest_ ?!”

“‘Cause the prophecy. Duh.”

Scylla squints at him. “What prophecy?”

“Oh, for the love of—" He throws his hands up in the air, like he can’t believe Scylla’s gall for not knowing about a prophecy he _never told her about_. “Were you not listening at _all_ the last time we spoke?”

Scylla blinks, thinking back to the rhyme he’d thrown into her proverbial lap before promptly disappearing. “You mean that was a _prophecy_ ?”

“Um, yeah. I thought you knew that. Why else would you have brought _her_?” he asks, nodding his head towards Raelle. 

“ _You’re_ the one who keeps showing up unannounced!” Scylla argues vehemently back, feeling telltale frustration twist in her gut. “And what does Raelle have to do with it?”

“Gods Almighty,” Narcissus laments. “You guys are _so_ screwed.”

“That’s not super helpful.”

“Well, I’m not allowed to _intervene_ , little lady. Or—not any more than I’ve been instructed to, anyhow.”

Scylla fights the urge to swear. “Is there anything you _can_ tell me?”

“Well, unless you wanna hear the prophecy one more time, I don’t think—"

“Yes! That. I’d like to hear it again.”

“Alright, sweetie,” Narcissus relents, holding up his hand and squinting at his palm. “I wrote it down here somewhere… Oh! There it is. Okay.” He clears his throat, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest in an obnoxious show of self-importance. "Witches of Salem, enter Hell’s kingdom / Daughters of music, war, and wisdom / Two kinsfolk aides will doubtless be needed / Their instruction and guidance unconditionally heeded / One from Gehenna, the other of Earth / Join together as one, seize Hell’s harlot re-birthed.”

“Awesome," Scylla mumbles to herself. “That clears everything right up."

“Okay, time to go,” Narcissus announces abruptly, making a show of tapping the nonexistent watch on his naked wrist. “It was nice meeting you, blondie."

“Hold on—"

“Laters!”

In an instant, he’s gone. 

All that remains is their own reflections standing side-by-side in the mirror, wearing matching _‘What the actual fuck’_ expressions. 

A second later, Raelle turns to her with a grim expression. “Scylla—"

“Look, Rae, I’m sorry, okay?” Scylla blurts out in a rush, wringing her hands nervously at her waist. "I am. I-I didn’t know what to make of it, and I’m not used to sharing parts of myself like this, and—"

“We need to find Abigail. _Now_. Tally, too.”

Scylla blinks, taken aback. Of all the things she might've expected Raelle to say, ‘Let’s go find Abigail’ certainly wasn't one of them. “What? Why?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” Raelle slips her hand into Scylla’s, already pulling her towards the exit. “C’mon.”

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really do have a whole detailed plot in my head for this huh


	3. old wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, let me get this straight,” says Anacostia, the activities director (and Alder’s second-in-command), in a deliberately measured tone. 
> 
> “First time for everything, I suppose,” Raelle murmurs, squirming in her seat. 
> 
> Scylla has to bite her lip hard to keep from giggling at that. Tally, too, is (poorly) suppressing an amused smile where she sits across from Scylla at the four-person card table. 
> 
> Anacostia just glares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just started watchign warrior nun... it slaps, kids

“Hold on. So you’re saying Abigail’s already _heard_ the prophecy?” Scylla questions, slightly out of breath as the two of them match pace at a quick jog over to the arena. 

(They’d already checked both the Ares and Athena cabins with no luck on either front. Thus, they’d reasoned that the next logical place to look—particularly considering Abigail’s trigger-happy personality—would be the sword fighting arena.)

Raelle gives a jerky nod, picking up the pace as they jog through one of four entrance tunnels spaced out around the classic Greek-styled stadium. (Though this one is a little smaller, of course.) “Yeah,” she pants. “Some parts of that prophecy were familiar to me. Like, word-for-word familiar, ‘cause I heard Abigail talking about it. Evidently, she heard it straight from the source.”

_'The source'?_

Scylla catches sight of Abigail and Tally up ahead, engaging in a weaponless spar—no swords, just punches and kicks. 

They finally stop short just a couple feet from where Abigail and Tally circle each other like prey, their eyes never leaving each other. 

“Guys,” Raelle gasps, bent over with her hands upon either knee trying to catch her breath. “We gotta talk.”

Tally stops at that, turning to appraise Raelle and Scylla with a vaguely curious expression upon her pretty features even as a stony-faced Abigail continues circling. 

“I have nothing to say to her,” Abigail growls, finally stopping short now that it’s become clear that Tally isn’t a willing participant any longer. “Fine.” She turns to fix them with a withering glare, hands on her hips. Her narrowed gaze seems to bore straight through Scylla’s skull. “Talk,” she orders.

Scylla takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “A guy who claimed to be Narcissus appeared in my mirror two days ago. He said he had a message for me.”

“A prophecy,” Raelle clarifies. 

Tally’s brown eyes widen as she turns to gape openly over at Scylla. “You got the prophecy?”

Scylla frowns, starting to feel rather uncomfortable beneath all the scrutiny. “I don’t know about _the_ prophecy, but he certainly gave me _a_ prophecy.”

“I recognized some parts of it,” Raelle jumps in, sounding equal parts excited and uneasy. “About the daughters of music, war, and wisdom. About joining together as one, and something about rebirth.”

A flicker of recognition ignites in Abigail’s plutonic gaze, but she does well to hide it; a split second later, and it’s gone. “So?”

“So _you_ got this prophecy from the optical lady—"

“Oracle.”

“Right, that. And then _Scylla_ gets the same one courtesy of the original Narcissus from forever ago who’s supposed to be _dead_ ?” Raelle questions effusively. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s a fluke,” Abigail counters, waving a hand dismissively through the air. “The prophecy calls for the daughters of music, war, and wisdom. That’s Apollo, Ares, and Athena. You, Tally, me. It doesn’t say _anything_ about Hades’ bastard child.”

Scylla feels a flare of righteous anger blaze in her gut. “You say that like you aren’t also a half-human kid born out of wedlock.”

“Yeah, except I wasn’t the mistake of the freaking century.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” Abigail mocks, acerbity dripping from her words. “Why don’t you just—"

“Abigail!” Raelle snaps, leveling the taller girl with an impressive glare. “Leave her alone.”

“Just ‘cause she’s your girlfriend, Collar, doesn’t mean I have to—"

“You said you needed me for this quest, to fulfill this prophecy,” Raelle interjects, a frosty coldness entering her tone that Scylla’s never heard before. (It clogs her throat with pungent fear.) "Is that true?”

Abigail purses her lips, her jaw tightly clenched.

“That’s what I thought,” Raelle continues. “If you can’t play nice, I walk. Got it?”

Abigail’s quiet for a long moment. Eventually, she turns to Scylla with an unreadable expression and says, “I want an apology first.”

Scylla bites back a groan. “You can’t be serious.”

Even Tally seems a little taken aback, cautiously eyeing Abigail with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Abs… "

“You owe me that much.”

“No, I _don’t_ ,” Scylla argues hotly. “I didn’t—"

“Charvel is _dead_ because of you!” Abigail explodes, eyes glassy with unshed tears, raw emotion radiating off of her trembling figure in potent waves. 

_Wait, what?_ “Is that what you think?” Scylla asks, not bothering to hide the incredulity in her hushed tone. "That _I’m_ the reason your cousin’s gone?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Abigail snarls back tersely. 

"My mother had me shipped me off to a different continent _years_ before everything went down. I didn’t know about the struggle between our families; I wasn’t even _here_ !"

“You’re such a _fucking_ liar,” Abigail spits. “Charvel died with the stain of Hell's curse blackening her soul, and I know damn well your daddy wouldn’t bother ascending from the Underworld to do it himself.”

“Abigail, I _can’t_ curse people, okay? My brother could, but he didn't… he didn’t mean it. It was the gems my mother gave to your family as payment. Your cousin must have come into contact with one of them. _That’s_ what cursed her.”

“Bullshit,” Abigail snorts. 

“I’m telling the _truth_.” Abigail rolls her eyes at that; regardless, Scylla forces herself to continue. "My mother separated us at birth, kept us far away from each other because it was too dangerous to raise us together. Xander went to Argentina; I stayed with her up in Alaska. She pushed me every day to develop my powers. But when I turned 14 and I still couldn’t manage to bring riches up from the earth like she’d heard about in the stories, she sent me away and brought Xander back in my place.”

“Money and riches—that was all she ever cared about. More than anything… More than her own kids.” She feels her eyes start to burn with shameful tears, and she bites the inside of her cheek hard to keep them at bay. “He could produce gems and gold and rubies from the ground in an instant, like it was easy. But he didn’t know they were cursed, okay? He’d never used them like that before our mother made him. She was selfish, and wrong, and desperate, but she did it anyways. She used my brother for his ability to pay off her debts—starting with the one she owed to your family.”

A strange look crosses Abigail’s face. She looks almost… nauseous. “How did your brother die?” she questions hoarsely, voice wavering like she’s afraid to know the answer. 

Scylla feels a knot tighten painfully in her chest. “It wasn’t your fault, Abigail,” she says quietly, looking her dead in the eyes and silently _begging_ her to leave this be. 

“He died along with your mother, didn’t he?”

Scylla feels a hot tear streak its way down her cheek. 

“ _Didn’t he_ ?!” Abigail repeats frantically, an almost crazed look in her glassy eyes. 

“… Yes,” Scylla admits, her voice little more than a whisper. More tears—two, this time—dribble their way down her cheeks. 

Abigail staggers back like she’s been struck. She clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle the broken sob that escapes her—primal and raw, like a wounded animal begging for mercy. 

“No…. " she implores— _pleads_ , really, horror etched into every facet of her noble features. Scylla feels like throwing up. “No, that’s not… _No_.”

“Abs… " Tally tries, taking a step towards her friend and extending a hand as if to comfort her. 

“ _No_ !” Abigail exclaims sharply, her voice thick with tears and unrest and such profound anguish, the mere sound of it seems to pierce Scylla’s flesh like a sharpened blade. “ _Don’t_ touch me."

Tally falters, her hand falling awkwardly back to her side. 

“Abigail,” Scylla tries. “It’s fine, okay? Let’s just—"

“NO!” Abigail shouts, loudly enough to make the rest of them cringe. Her tawny cheeks are wet with frustrated tears, and in a shocking (read: painfully ironic) turn of events, Scylla aches to comfort her. “I… I can’t be here right now.” 

With that, she promptly turns on her heel and takes off in a full sprint toward the nearest exit tunnel, leaving a trail of clouded dust in her wake. 

“Fuck,” Scylla curses quietly to herself, bowing her head and watching through blurry vision as a couple of her tears splash down into the medallion-yellow dust underfoot. 

She barely registers Raelle’s arm curling around her shoulders; a warm hand gripping her upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze that says _‘I’m here’_ in a way that all the empty promises in the world never could. She appreciates it more than she can say. 

“Yeah, there’s no _way_ we’re fulfilling that prophecy any time soon,” Tally remarks. Scylla thinks Raelle must have flashed her a scolding look, then, because a couple seconds later— “What?” she asks, a mildly defensive note to her tone. "It’s true.”

— — 

“So, let me get this straight,” says Anacostia, the activities director (and Alder’s second-in-command), in a deliberately measured tone. 

“First time for everything, I suppose,” Raelle murmurs, squirming in her seat. 

Scylla has to bite her lip hard to keep from giggling at that. Tally, too, is (poorly) suppressing an amused smile where she sits across from Scylla at the four-person card table. 

Anacostia just glares. “The fabled Narcissus appeared to you twice in a mirror,” she pauses to give a nod towards Scylla, “then proceeded to recite the exact same prophecy Abigail Bellweather was given by the Oracle three weeks previous. You believe the three of you—along with Miss Bellweather—to be the demigod heroes called upon in said prophecy.”

"Additionally, your late brother is indirectly responsible for the death of Charvel Bellweather, Abigail’s cousin and beloved confidante for years before her untimely demise. This tragedy then motivated Abigail’s mother, enraged at this slight, to enact swift vengeance resulting in the deaths of both your mortal mother and demigod brother. And to make matters even worse, those particular technicalities have only just recently come to light, which I presume is why Abigail herself is not here with the three of you actively trying to plead your case. Am I missing anything?”

“Uh… Nope,” Raelle offers, ruefully rubbing at the back of her neck. “I think that about covers it.”

“Wonderful.” Anacostia folds her hands daintily atop the table—the very picture of mild-mannered poise (though what she says next is anything but). “Have you all lost your damn minds?”

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on day 13 of hotel quarantine and i'm losing my w h o l e mind

**Author's Note:**

> i really really do not know if i'm going to continue this... i'd really like to, but it all depends on if i have the motivation to after this
> 
> 'cause i feel like it's a big commitment to say "i'm gonna write their mission and make them fulfill their prophecy" cause i feel like that's a lot of writing .... like i do have all of it mapped out, so i know vaguely what would happen adn how all the pieces of this prophecy poem thing i pulled out of my ass last night would fit, but again... that's a lotta writing, dude
> 
> plus, the semester is starting soon, and i don't wanna make any promises i can't keep
> 
> that said, though, i absolutely do take your guys' feedback into account here, so please feel free to lemme know what you think. plus, nice comments make my whole entire week because i'm a slut for positive reinforcement
> 
> also here's my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/) or just search me up @ultralightdumbass to come talk to me there!


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